


Come Stop Your Crying, It Will Be Alright

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Argentina National Team, Copa América 2015, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FC Barcelona, Football | Soccer, Loss, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masche had fucked Leo once.</p><p>It had been after Copa América. </p><p>He thinks about it time to time. Something will spark his memory and he'll remember the way Leo had looked, trembling beneath him.</p><p>It's not something he talks about. When his teammates have had a few drinks and start throwing around stories of drunken fumblings, or those few times they've crossed the line during celebrations or defeats (because, let's face it, everyone's done it), Masche stays silent.</p><p>But he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Stop Your Crying, It Will Be Alright

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a million stories to work on and another million to read and comment on, but my brain decided it wanted to write this. Today. In a few hours. Masche/Leo is mostly new for me, but I think this is how it would have happened.

Masche had fucked Leo once.

It had been after Copa América. 

He thinks about it time to time. Something will spark his memory and he'll remember the way Leo had looked, trembling beneath him.

It's not something he talks about. When his teammates have had a few drinks and start throwing around stories of drunken fumblings, or those few times they've crossed the line during celebrations or defeats (because, let's face it, everyone's done it), Masche stays silent.

But he remembers.

Both of them had been exhausted, clinging to each other in an attempt to stop the pain. The hotel room had been dark, neither of them wanting to really see each other. They'd huddled together in that big bed. Trying to find comfort in each other while most of their teammates drank themselves into oblivion. 

Masche hadn't planned it. And neither had Leo.

It happened anyway.

Because Leo wouldn't stop crying. He'd cried for hours, huge gulping sobs, struggling for breath while he kept reliving the game--over and over and over. Crying for himself, for his teammates, for Argentina... He'd cried as if he'd never cried before.

And they'd all hugged him and caressed him, passed him from body to body, trying to say the right things. Deep down they all knew that there wasn't anything to say and that nothing would make this better. 

They all tried anyway.

Nothing worked.

One by one they'd wandered off, unable to help and utterly defeated.

Masche didn't know what to do, didn't know how to make him stop--how to make the pain stop. Because God, he felt it, he felt it too, that all encompassing loss, that sense of failure... He felt it deeply, sinking into his bones--that knowledge that he wasn't good enough. And he knew that whatever he felt, Leo felt the same and maybe more.

No, he couldn't leave Leo.

So when they were alone, amongst the tears and the gasps for air, Masche had turned to Leo and kissed him.

And he could taste the salt of Leo's tears, taste his grief, feel it heavy on his tongue. Still he kissed him, pressing Leo onto his back on the bed. And Leo had let him, kissing him back, hands grabbing at his shirt.

It should have been quick and hard, frantic motions as they pulled off their clothes and finally came together. 

But it wasn't. 

Leo had helped Masche out of his shirt, tugging it off over his shoulders, gazing up at him with pained eyes. And then Masche had returned the favor, both of them slowly stripping the other until they were bare, skin against skin. 

It was a relief to take everything off--to take off their colors and become just Javier and Leo. 

To forget who they were and what they did for a living.

At another time Masche might have bent and taken Leo into his mouth, parted his thighs and worshipped him as he truly deserved. But tears were still trickling from Leo's eyes. And so Masche had simply prepared him and then pushed in, holding him tenderly. 

Leo's eyes had closed, wet lashes fanned across his tear stained cheeks. He'd wrapped his arms around Masche's neck and sighed, murmuring, "Javier," as he calmed.

They probably both wanted it to hurt. 

But Masche couldn't bring himself to be rough.

And Leo didn't try to make him.

In the end they found their pleasure, Masche coming deep inside Leo, biting his lip as he emptied himself into that tight heat. Leo had followed, arching, spilling soundlessly between their bellies without Masche dropping a hand to help him.

They didn't speak.

Masche hadn't moved, laying heavily on top of Leo, both of them panting as they came down. He'd watched Leo's face, wiping away a lingering tear with his thumb and then following it with his lips. Leo had cradled Masche's head, leaning into the touch.

When it became too much, Masche had rolled to the side.

Both of them had stared up at the ceiling, knowing it had been a one time thing, and knowing that neither had to say it.

Instead Leo had reached down and linked his fingers with Masche's.

And he'd smiled.


End file.
